It Looks To Me
by Lyrical Ballads
Summary: One moment Beni was enjoying himself over O'Connell's stupidity, the next moment he was being manhandled with a gun pointed at his chest.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Mummy_.

**Author's Note:** Beni is such a fascinating character, but there are very few stories that depict his take on things, so here I am with another Beni fic. He's one of my absolute favorite people to write, so enjoy!

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><p><strong>It Looks To Me<strong>

Beni may not have been strong, brave, or fantastically rich, but he was stealthier than anyone he knew. Of course, he never really _knew_ anyone, since he only dealt with people long enough to achieve his own ends, but he was still a hell of a lot stealthier than any of the sorry bastards he had robbed, cheated, and lied to over the years. He was especially more subtle than O'Connell, who tramped around like an elephant and thought that sticking a gun in someone's face was the solution to every problem.

That wasn't Beni's way. No, Beni preferred to use his tongue and his wits, and when both of those failed him he made good use of his legs. _Very_ good use, though he doubted that would help him much when he was currently stuck on a barge floating down the Nile.

It wasn't a huge barge, but it was big enough for Beni to ditch those lousy Americans he had promised to lead into the desert for half the amount he had expected. Those idiots may have been smarter than most Americans (which wasn't too smart at all), but they were still loud and shared O'Connell's mindless love of waving weapons around like they were playthings. Why did Americans love guns so much anyway? There was nothing fun about having a body part shot off or getting a bullet lodged in some vital organ.

Speaking of gun-loving Americans, Beni had been avoiding O'Connell like the plague ever since he learned that his former "friend" was actually alive and well after their little adventure in the desert three years ago. The moment Beni had seen O'Connell's tall, familiar form striding up the gangway with his snobby looking companions (one of whom Beni could have sworn he pick-pocketed in a bar weeks ago), it was like he had seen a ghost, and he knew that the moment O'Connell laid eyes on him there would be hell to pay. There was always hell to pay when one dealt in tricks and lies like they were nothing more than chips on a poker table, but Beni was especially doomed where O'Connell was concerned. The bastard could break him in half with his eyes closed.

Not that Beni intended to let O'Connell get close enough to do it.

"Now where on earth has Jonathan gotten off to?" said a female voice, reaching Beni's ears from somewhere below. He was crouched on the highest level of the barge he could find, which allowed him to spy on the main deck and avoid the passengers simultaneously.

"Relax, we're on a boat," said a different voice entirely. _O'Connell_, speak of the devil. "Where's he gonna go?"

"You don't know him like I do. He could have been thrown overboard, or he might have _fallen_ overboard, or—"

"Or he might be having a grand old time, rubbing elbows with some new friends," O'Connell interrupted. "Happily plastered, of course."

"Well _I_ don't think it's anything to joke about," O'Connell's companion said stiffly.

Beni almost sniggered out loud. Whoever this broad was, she sounded like the most uptight prude on the face of the earth, the type who would keep her legs firmly closed until the day she died surrounded by cats and books. What was O'Connell doing with a girl like that anyway?

"Who said I was joking?" said O'Connell.

_Clunk clunk clunk._ Beni heard a pair of heels travel across the wooden deck, signaling the departure of the prude, and O'Connell's heavier footsteps soon followed.

Three days. Beni was stuck on this boat for three goddamned days, and the odds of him avoiding O'Connell throughout the whole trip were slim, even with his natural ability to blend in with the scenery. Sooner or later he would bump into the man he ran out on three years ago, and he might as well start praying to every god he knew of to make sure he lived long enough to see the second half of his payment from the Americans.

"Bastards," Beni muttered, cursing the three cowboys who had landed him in this mess.

"I beg your pardon?" said a voice that sounded remarkably similar to the prude girl's, only this voice was male, familiar, and more irritating than a bad hangover on a blinding Cairo morning.

Dr. Chamberlain peered up at Beni through his monocle, looking scandalized that Beni would dare to use an impolite word, and on a public barge no less. "Good evening, doctor," said Beni, briefly removing his fez so he could make a fake bow to Chamberlain. "I hear our American friends are looking for you. They think you should 'lighten up,' as these Americans say, but I don't know what that means. Do you know what it means?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I've heard no such thing," said Chamberlain. "And speak more clearly, won't you? I can barely understand your jabbering."

Beni would love to take that monocle and shove it someplace that never saw the daylight. He cursed at Chamberlain in Hungarian, then slunk off until he was down on the main part of the deck, in a region with no O'Connell or Egyptologists in sight. What were those Americans thinking when they hired Chamberlain anyway? The man was nothing but a pompous know-it-all who always looked at Beni like he crawled out of some back alley, which wasn't _too_ far from the truth, but the man was still an ass, all the same. Didn't the Americans trust Beni's unrivaled expertise, born out of long days and nights trekking across the desert, breaking his back in pursuit of—

Ha. Even Beni couldn't fool himself. He had never set foot upon Hamunaptra's soil since that fateful day three years ago, and the only thing that urged him to seek that cursed place was the promise of wealth in the near future.

Whoever believed that money was the root of all evil had never had to steal for food or sleep on a doorstep, that was for damn sure.

Beni heard shouts and laughter from the other end of the deck and snuck his way over, intending to size up his companions on the boat. The smallest bit of information could be used to his advantage, and Beni had learned long ago that every person he came into contact with was competition, whether it was for resources or money or whatever. Every man for himself; that was the philosophy Beni had lived by for as long as he could remember, and he only made "friends" long enough to get what he needed. As he crept across the deck he began to distinguish voices, particularly the voices of the three Americans, and as he drew closer he got a clear view of them seated together, in the process of pulling out alcohol and a deck of cards.

That other companion of O'Connell's was there as well, the British idiot who made a grab for the alcohol like it was the greatest treasure on earth. Now that Beni had a better look at his face, he knew that he _did_ pickpocket this man in a bar weeks ago and grinned to himself, remembering how the moron didn't even notice that some money had been snatched right out of his jacket pockets.

Beni loved drunks. They were so easy to con.

"Hey, partner, get yer hands off the liquor," Daniels snapped at the Brit. "This here is _ours_."

"Pardon me, gents," said the Brit, chuckling at Daniels. "I only intended to _borrow_ a drink or two. I had hoped you wouldn't mind."

"That don't make no sense," said Daniels.

"Ah, come on, Daniels, let the fella have his drink," said Henderson, producing a glass from out of nowhere. "We were just about to have a good ol' fashioned game of poker," he added to the Brit. "We could use a fourth player."

Beni was bored already. These idiots would spend the whole night drinking and playing cards, unless a fight broke out among them, and Beni wasn't stupid enough to stick around for that.

"Well, I must say, I'm quite the expert when it comes to poker," the Brit said proudly. "You Americans will have to fight bloody hard to defeat me, I'm warning you."

Beni's grin returned. He could sense a bullshitter from a mile away.

"Yeah, yeah," said Daniels. "Have a seat."

"Hey, watch the glasses," Burns warned as the Brit moved dangerously close to him in seek of a chair. "You break 'em, it comes out of your pocket."

Beni had heard enough and crept from his corner so he could find somebody more interesting to spy on. Just when he thought he could get away safely, Henderson spotted him and called out, "Hey, weasel! Where're you sneakin' off to?"

"To your mother," Beni called back to him, then scampered off before somebody decided to pull a pistol on him.

How he hated guns, even though he carried one himself. People always thought it was funny to threaten him with the stupid things, but _they_ weren't the ones who had to look right into that cold, black barrel and prayer to God, or Allah, or Buddha, or whoever that he wouldn't get his head blown off. If everyone just had the decency to leave Beni alone and let him carry on with his business, then these unpleasant confrontations could be avoided.

When he strained his ears he could still hear the Americans and the drunken Brit, and he could have sworn he could hear O'Connell's voice join in. He had clearly left the area just in time.

It wasn't like he had meant O'Connell any harm three years ago, back when they were in the Legion running for their lives in the desert. Beni just happened to value his own safety above everything else and to be perfectly honest, he wasn't the most brilliant thinker when he was terrified out of his mind. Of course, there was also the fact that O'Connell was tall, handsome, brave, and likeable—all qualities that Beni couldn't help but envy him for—and if the world had to make do without O'Connell in it, well, Beni could carry on just fine.

Okay, he did feel a _little_ guilty for leaving O'Connell to face certain doom, but O'Connell was alive and well now, and Beni no longer had any reason to hold onto that guilt, no matter how miniscule it was.

His wanderings took him to a quiet part of the deck, and he almost thought the place was empty until he spotted someone sitting at a table reading. It was that prudish sounding girl who was with O'Connell earlier, the one who looked like she belonged in a nunnery instead of a boat on the Nile, and Beni only escaped her notice because she was so absorbed in her book. Luckily for Beni he had stumbled upon an infinite number of hiding places and ducked out of sight, occasionally sneaking glances at the girl, trying to figure out what appeal she could possibly hold for a guy like O'Connell. She had a pair of glasses perched upon her nose for one thing, and since when was O'Connell into girls who liked to read?

Not that Beni was one to talk. He could barely read himself, and the sight of this dark-haired broad absorbed in a book filled him with a bitterness he hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't _his_ fault he had grown up in a miserable slum that provided few opportunities, aside from opportunities to screw people over, of course. At least he had gotten _some_ sort of education.

The girl seemed a lot happier now that she wasn't with O'Connell, that was for sure. Every now and then she would read something out loud with a hushed sort of excitement, like whatever was in that book pleased her to no end, and Beni soon regretted his chosen hiding place. Something more exciting was bound to have happened to the Americans by now, and here Beni was in an uncomfortable hiding place, listening to some glasses-wearing prude get excited over a bunch of words on a page.

How typical.

"Sorry," a familiar voice said after something heavy landed on the table. "Didn't mean to scare ya."

Beni resisted the urge to let off a long string of swear words. He thought his present situation was bad enough, but now it was infinitely worse, and he made sure to keep out of sight just in case O'Connell decided to turn around.

"The only thing that scares me, Mr. O'Connell, are your manners," the prude said in the same stiff voice she had used earlier.

On second thought, this could be entertaining. _Very_ entertaining. Beni perked up his ears and listened hard, grinning each time O'Connell said something stupid and got torn down by the girl. The son of a bitch actually had the nerve to kiss a frigid, book-loving girl like her? He must have fallen upon desperate times indeed, because the O'Connell that Beni knew in the Legion had been a regular ladies' man, the kind who didn't even have to try to get a beautiful woman on each arm wherever he went.

And yeah, that was one of the many reasons why Beni had no trouble abandoning him three years ago.

The two of them talked on about the evil under the sands of Hamunaptra, which made Beni shudder behind his hiding place, some famous book, which made him roll his eyes, and the all-important question of why O'Connell had kissed the broad in the first place.

"I don't know," said O'Connell, in typical blunt O'Connell fashion. "I was about to be hanged. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Beni wasn't surprised when this turned out to be the wrong answer, and the girl stormed off in a huff. Honestly, what else had she been expecting? It was O'Connell, after all, the man of brawn and no brains.

"What?" O'Connell said to the empty air. "What'd I say?"

And that was when Beni couldn't control himself anymore. The situation was so ridiculous, so hilarious, that a snigger escaped his lips before he could contain it, and that was the snigger that brought him a world of trouble. One moment Beni was enjoying himself over O'Connell's stupidity, the next moment he was being manhandled with a gun pointed at his chest.

"Well if it ain't my little buddy Beni. I think I'll kill you."

There it was with the guns again. Didn't these Americans ever consider using words instead of actions?

Obviously not.


End file.
